


Lion Man

by littlelotte



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, warnings for: physical and emotional abuse, warnings for: underage drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelotte/pseuds/littlelotte
Summary: “Tremble little lion man, you’ll never settle any of your scores”Snapshots of Therion's life all the way from age eleven to twenty-three.





	Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> note: some of Darius and Therion's dialogue comes from in-game, especially in "eleven," "sixteen," and "twenty-two."

Eleven:

The cell doors make a rough scraping sound as they close behind him; the skin on his cheek stings from the slap and his knees are that of an old man’s. Exhausted could be the word for it, if there was ever a way to describe it. He knows full well that there isn’t—and that there would never be.

“I see you got the same warm welcome I did.”

He turns to see a lanky boy with red hair and a crooked smile. He’s hunched over in the corner, giggling at Therion with a stony gleam in his eyes that, put together with the rest of him, makes him look more animal than human.

There’s something that grabs at his throat and claws at his chest. A wave of doubt washes over him strong enough to send him to the floor.

“They don’t go easy on no one here.”

The boy, no, the teenager—he can’t be any younger than fifteen—moves closer.

“Are you ready to be a good little boy and play nice with the guards?”

He’s taller than Therion by a good few inches. His teeth are yellow with bits of black and green in them. His cheeks are gaunt and marred with bruises. He’s nauseating—but for whatever reason, Therion can’t bring himself to look away.

The teenager moves passed him and fiddles with the cell’s lock, cursing as he does. In this light, Therion can see the dirt underneath his fingernails and the oily sheen of his skin. The grease in his hair and the filth clinging to his clothes. He wonders, absentmindedly, if in four years he’ll look the same.

“Try using this instead.”

There’s shock in the teenager’s eyes, then something else as he laughs. It’s a terrible sound that makes Therion’s ears ring.

“The name’s Darius, mate.”

But Therion shakes his hand anyway.

“Well, Therion. Looks like you and I are officially partners in crime.”

And just like that, everything stops. Nothing tilts, nothing turns, spins, or twists. For the first time in a long time, everything is quiet. The warning signal doesn’t flash.

“Guess so.”

He was eleven years old.

 

* * *

 

 

Twelve:

The air in Riverford clings to his skin like a wet cloak. He trails behind Darius by a meter or so, but the other urges him forward with a brisk wave of his hand.

“Keep it up, runt. Daylight’s runnin’ thin.”

There’s an itch at the back of his throat and a dull throb in the soles of his feet. He knows, despite the severity of their situation, that he shouldn’t be walking on his bad ankle—the one he’d sprained not even a week ago—but Darius insisted pain was the best medicine. Pain makes us _strong._

“Okay.”

Maybe he would have argued. Maybe he would have put up a fight even, if he’d let the more childish side of him win. Maybe then, the urge to impress wouldn’t have made his head hurt so much.

But Darius was right. Darius was _always_ right. And Darius knew best.

So when they robbed an elderly man blind, cackling like hyenas as they ran, Therion pushed the dirty feeling somewhere deep inside of him. Somewhere remote enough to keep it from coming back to haunt him in his sleep.

Children are fools, he decides, because the devastated wail of the old man clings to his eardrums and keeps him up that night. Darius, sixteen and all the wiser for it, sleeps soundly.

Therion curls in on himself and holds his hands over his ears to stop the screaming, squeezes his eyes shut to stop the tears.

He couldn’t afford to be a child anymore.

 

* * *

 

Thirteen:

“Hey.”

Therion’s eyes follow Darius’s gangling form as he makes his way over to a girl with a basket in her hands and a threadbare shawl around her shoulders. She’s younger than Darius, but easily older than Therion. Her hands shake.

“Wanna be a sweetheart and share some a that with us?”

The girl’s knuckles turn a ghostly shade of white as she pulls the basket to her chest.

“Th-They’re for my sisters.”

Darius laughs, and there’s that animal glint in his eyes again as he steps forward. The girl trips, then scrambles to her feet as Darius reaches for the basket. He closes a hand around one of her wrists instead, and the girl screams something terrible.

There’s another scream then, and Darius turns around to look at him. He must’ve forgotten the sound of his own voice, Therion thinks, as Darius releases the girl and stalks toward him. He must have forgotten his place.

“What did I say about interruptin’ me when I’m working?”

The slap sends a jolt down his spine; Therion hits the dirt with an audible gasp.

“Don’t you _ever_ pull that shit again, y’hear?”

Therion sucks in a breath and nods. He must have forgotten his place.

Darius turns to look for the girl again, but she’s already run off.

“Fucking hell. I do everything for yer sorry ass, and this is the thanks I get?”

Therion closes his hands around his knees to stop them from shaking.

“We steal shit to _live,_ Therion. Don’t you get it?”

 _But I don’t like the way they scream,_ are the words that put themselves on repeat in his head. He tries to say something— _anything_ —but nothing comes out; Darius clicks his tongue.

“You’re such a sentimental brat. Don’t start developin’ _feelings_ toward our targets. All you need is me.”

With that, Darius turns on his heels and walks away, leaving Therion dazed at the mouth of an Altasdam alleyway. The sun hangs low in the sky, and Therion wonders if it’s watching him. If it was, what would it think? What would it _say?_

He shakes the question off and rises to his feet, then follows after Darius’ fading form.

Sunlight doesn’t have time for people like them.

 

* * *

 

Fourteen:

The water moves passed his ankles, bitter-cold and uninviting.

Darius is waist deep in the ocean, chugging an already half-empty handle of ale. “Don’t just stand there, runt! We pulled off a massive heist today, and we’re gonna celebrate it with beach ‘nd booze!” He raises the bottle to his lips again and laughs. “Water’s a whole lot nicer when ya can’t feel it!”

Therion’s fingers close around the flask in his hands. The metal cold is against his skin—just like the waves at his feet, and he considers, very briefly, how far he could make it fly. He could wind his arm back, breathe in, and throw it hard like dagger. If he put enough elbow grease in, maybe he could make it hit the spot where the ocean meets the sky.

“Don’t waste that on me, Therion. I’m givin’ ya some of my personal stash, so you better savor it.” Darius gives him a warning glance, then shrugs. “Think of it like a gift from yer big brother.”

He wants to tell him he doesn’t want it—that he doesn’t like the taste, or the way it burns. There’s a part of him, somewhere deep, deep down, that wants to take the flask and squeeze it until it bursts. Squeeze until there’s alcohol all over his hands as he drops what’s left of it into the sea. Maybe then, Darius would listen.

But he doesn’t do that; instead, he opens the bottle and takes a heavy gulp. It’s like swallowing turpentine.

Darius flashes his rotten teeth. “That’s the spirit! Knew ya weren’t a pussy.”

Therion grimaces. He doesn’t know why Darius always has to say that shit.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He takes another sip, and _fuck,_ it burns. It settles in his stomach like hot glass.

“Isn’t this great, Therion? That pompous bastard totally fell for our schemin’. He didn’t stand a chance.” 

Therion trains his eyes on a flock of birds flying overhead. “...That’s because we got him to trust us. He thought we were honest people.”

Darius snorts. “Uh, yeah, ‘cause he’s got shit for brains. Anybody that willin’ to trust a couple of street rats isn’t smart enough t’keep his fortune anyhow.” He takes another swig, then, in a mocking tone: “ _Please help us, sir. Our baby sister’s so, so sick._ Hah! Ya played him like a godsdamned fiddle, Therion.”

Shuddering, Therion raises the flask to his lips.

“Y’see? That’s what ya get for trusting people, Therion. He got what was comin’ to him.”

And he hated to admit it, but Darius was right. Trust was a dangerous game.

“You don’t wanna be making his mistake.”

So why the _hell_ did he trust Darius? Where does he draw the line? Was it even trust at all? Or was it desperation? Darius was his…friend, right? Or his business partner? Whatever it was, one thing was certain: this man is all he has.

He pushes away the thought with another swig, focusing on the coolness of the water to ignore the sting. His mind drifts elsewhere, however, as he imagines the drink’s dirty fingernails peeling away the skin of his throat.

“All we need is each other, kid. So don’t forget it.”

Therion nods, lightheaded and far away. The ocean starts to rise in tandem with the rushing winds. A large wave heads in their direction, and Darius opens his arms wide and lets out a howl of laughter. As it hits them, Therion wonders, very briefly, if this one’s strong enough to carry him away.

Darius turns and smiles at him then—genuinely—and Therion starts to forget. All the uncertainty and doubt washes off of him with the tug of the tide. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Maybe it isn’t.

As Darius’ banshee laugh tears through the sky, all Therion can think is _brother._

 

* * *

 

 

Fifteen:

The run from the Cianno group had been dizzying. It carried them through alleyways, across building tops and at one point, through the river. Therion had always been the nimbler of the two, so he ran ahead of Darius, who wheezed like an old man. _All the smoking,_ Therion thinks, and shakes his head.

They’re in the tavern now—some rundown tin-roof mess on the outskirts of Saintsbridge. Therion jingles the coins he’d received from Darius in his hands, watches the way they glimmer in the dim light.

“What, you’re not gonna order anything to drink?”

Therion looks up from his hands to meet Darius’ incredulous gaze. There’s a funny quirk in his eyebrows that makes Therion wonder what’s really going through his head.

_‘Sharp as a tack, aren’t ye?’_

“...Not right now. In a bit, yeah. But not right this second.”

Darius whistles lowly and leans back in his chair. “So you’re tellin’ me you took those coins from me hands just to sit here without ordering anything to drink?”

Therion bristles; a chill runs down his spine. “...You promised we were going to split the spoils, so I reminded you of it. Frankly, I don’t think I did anything wrong.”

Darius stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable, then smirks. “You know I’d never honestly keep somethin’ from ya, Therion, so don’t get all bent outa shape over it. Hells, you act like I’m tryin’ to pull one over on ya.” He sets his mug down, and there’s that glint in his eyes again. “After _everything_ we’ve been through.”

 _But you did._ “I’m not acting like anything. I’m just...Tired. It’s been a long day. So don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. You’re what, fifteen? Must be past your bedtime.”

Therion stares down at his hands again; he doesn’t like the way Darius makes him shrink. “I’m used to staying up late. You know that.”

Darius snorts, muttering something about bratty kids as he takes another sip of ale. Therion watches the way his eyes move across the room, then stop on something in particular. Grinning, he sets his mug down and sticks a bony finger out toward the back of the room.

“Y’see her? She’s pretty, ain’t she?”

Therion follows Darius’ gaze to see a young barmaid, no older than eighteen, struggling to hand out drinks to impatient patrons. She’s pretty, sure, but Therion doesn’t necessarily _feel_ anything when he looks at her. Darius, on the other hand, already seems to have a set goal in mind.

“Yeah, sure. But she looks busy right now, so you probably shouldn’t bother her.”

The girl nearly trips over herself trying to rush to a table as a gruff-looking man pounds his fist.

“Since when are you such a killjoy? I reckon she’ll take one look at me and forget all about everyone else.” Darius flashes a wide grin and pushes back from his seat. “Be a good boy, go over there ‘nd talk highly of your big bro so we can speed up the process. You’d do that for me, won’t ya?”

Therion bites his lip hard enough to tear the skin. “Leave her alone _,_ Darius.”

Darius gives him a pointed look, then scoffs as he slams his mug down on the table. “Guess I’ll do it myself then. Thanks for nothing, _brother.”_

Therion starts to say something, but Darius waves him off and saunters over to the barmaid, flourishing to grab her attention. The girl responds with an irritated frown and continues serving, much to Darius’ obvious chagrin. Something about the way Darius has the nerve to look pissed off makes Therion’s blood burn. He’d like to say his friend is harmless—that he’ll give up and sit back down after an outright rejection—but that would be generous. No, Darius will keep trying until the girl has to get the barkeep to throw him out on his ass. Until she’s so afraid of him she won’t walk home alone.

Therion doesn’t like that part of Darius, doesn’t like the way he thinks girls he’s interested in owe him something. But that’s not all. He doesn’t like the way Darius keeps money from him, the money they steal _together._ He doesn’t like the way Darius drinks himself into a drunken stupor and makes him pick up the tab. He doesn’t like the way the decay in Darius’ teeth makes his stomach drop every time he smiles.

_‘Be a good boy, go over there ‘nd talk highly of your big bro’_

But Darius...Darius is his brother. And he doesn’t know much about family, but he’s pretty sure you can _love_ family without always _liking_ them. Right?

The barmaid makes an annoyed grunt and swats at Darius, who’s still trying to occupy her attention.

Family doesn’t always have to get along. Family can fight. Family can disagree.

Darius tries to spin the girl around to look at him; Therion digs his fingernails into his thighs.

Family was family even if sometimes there was dislike.

“—Get off of me, filthy pig—!”

“Aw, darlin’, don’t be like that!”

Family was family even if sometimes there was hate.

Darius makes a grab for the girl’s wrists again, and suddenly Therion’s out of his chair, skin hot and shoulders stiff. He doesn’t think—just moves.

“I said, leave her _alone_.”

And again, Therion doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s louder this time, and more forceful than he ever could have imagined. For once, he sounds strong.

The barmaid yanks her wrists away and goes back to work with an aggravated huff. Darius, on the other hand, stares dumbfounded like he’d just been struck. In that split second, something passes through Darius’ eyes that makes Therion shiver. It’s an emotion he can’t quite name, but whatever it is, it’s dark.

...But family was family even if sometimes there was fear.

...Right?

 

* * *

 

 

Sixteen:

“ _Why,_ Darius?!”

The question hangs like dead weight in the summer air.

“It’s simple. You remember that night we humiliated the Ciannos, don’t you?”

Therion’s head spins; his tongue is dry. The cliff he’s standing on seems to tilt ever so slightly sideways, making it hard to maintain balance. Making it hard to breathe.

“...Of course I do.”

Darius laughs, and it sounds like something’s shattered. The pieces from it fly out and strike Therion in the chest, just like Darius had done to his left eye. And _Gods,_ he can’t see out of it. He can’t _fucking_ see.

“They want you gone, Therion. And so do I.”

The cliff tilts in the other direction, and Therion’s heart stops. Something warm trickles down his cheek, and for a second, he mistakes it as blood.

“I hate to break it you you, but this was bound to happen, mate.” Darius shoves a hand out towards him, but Therion doesn’t have the energy to flinch. “Just _looking_ at you makes me Tom and Dick!”

_…Why?_

“—But you were so easily manipulated by _cheap words!_ ”

... _I don’t understand..._

“Why couldn’t you stay a naif?! Everything woulda been fine if you did what I said!”

_…But…_

“...So you’re just gonna kill me? That’s it?” His voice is raw with emotion. Weak and pitiful.

Darius leans closer until he’s inches away, then snarls. “You’re more worthless than the scum beneath me daisies, and I’ll prove it!”

There’s a flash of metal. Before Therion can breathe, something sharp embeds itself in his forearm, tearing muscle from bone. It’s a dizzying pain—one that makes his eyelids flutter and his shoulders seize.

“So long _, partner.”_

—is all he hears before the ground pulls away from his feet.

 

* * * 

 

Therion grunts and leans his body against a cavern wall, his legs pulled close as he tries to breathe. It takes what feels like hours to get some semblance of his bearings; there’s this terrible, squeezing sensation in his skull that’s something like a migraine, but worse. His right ankle is broken—that’s for sure. It’s the bad one. There’s a thick gash on his right leg running from his kneecap halfway up his thigh. It could be infected, but he can’t tell. He can’t _see_ it right and, oh—

His left eye. He can’t see from his left eye.

The gasp leaves his throat before he has time to think; the tears spill down his cheeks. Cheek? He can’t tell. He can’t tell anymore. He _can’t_ —

“ _Why,_ Darius?”

It hurts. It hurts. It just _hurts._ Everything. _Everything._

When the waves of panic leave him, he’s left shaking trying to patch up his wounds, wincing every time his ankle moves. He searches for something to ground him, something to occupy himself with. Something. _Anything._

—And then it hits him. Something he’d forgotten about in the grand sweep of things.

“That’s...right,” he whispers, wrapping his legs in bandages. He doesn’t have any type of healing salves or magic that can help this, so plain old cloth will have to do.

Today is his birthday.

 

* * *

 

 

Seventeen:

His injuries had taken longer to heal than he would have liked. Once he’d cleaned the dried blood off his left eye, he was able to see out of it somewhat. But it would tear up uncontrollably when light hit it, so he opted to go for the usual and let his bangs fall over that side of his face. His bad ankle, after seeing so much abuse, would never be fully right again.

He does, however, know when it’s going to rain.

The sky opens up moments after he reaches a cave, and brings with it a downpour the likes of which have been written about in ancient mythos. Therion leans himself against the cave wall and watches the way water droplets bounce off the ground just in time to hit the ones that follow. There’s a dull throb in his ankle, and he takes off his boot to rub the pain away. If anything, he likes the way the rain sounds; it’s loud enough to drown out even his own labored breathing. If he pays attention to this for a while, his mind won’t wander somewhere unpleasant.

If the rain stops anytime soon, he’ll be in Rippletide tomorrow. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to steal enough to keep himself fed for the next few days. That is, of course, if he remembers to eat. Because for some reason, it’s not exactly high on his list of priorities.

Therion shifts himself so that he’s laying down on the floor of the cave, curled in a ball and using his arm as a headrest. The rain picks up again, harder than before, and Therion closes his eyes to wait out the storm.

 

* * *

 

 

Eighteen:

“ _Why,_ Darius?”

The cliff. Tilting. Left eye. Can’t see. Pain. Flashing. Darius. Rotten teeth. Green Liar. Sweet summer’s day.

“ _Just looking at you makes me Tom and Dick!”_

Can’t see. Flashing. Rotten Teeth. Tilting. Green Liar. Sweet summer’s day.

“ _You were so easily manipulated by cheap words!”_

Tilting. Can’t see. Green Liar. Flashing.

_“Why couldn’t you just stay a naif?!”_

Rotten teeth. Can’t see.

_“You’re more worthless than the scum beneath me daisies.”_

The cliff. Tilting. Left Eye. Can’t see. Pain. Flashing. _Darius._ Rotten teeth. Green Liar. Sweet summer’s day. Falling. Falling. _Falling._

_“So long, partner.”_

_Help me._

Therion wakes up in a cold sweat, reaching for something to grab hold of and finding nothing but air. Tears prick his eyes and panic settles in his throat—he clutches at his sides only to realize there’s blanket there, and bed underneath. He’s at the inn. He’s at the inn in Marsalim. He’d rented this room out for the night with money he stole from a merchant. He isn’t anywhere near a cliff.

He sucks in a breath and curls in on himself, pulling the blanket to his face as he does. The tears won’t stop for a while.

It’s always the same dream.

 

* * *

 

 

Nineteen:

Nineteen. _Nineteen._ There isn’t much to say about nineteen. Well, nothing except for the fact that he picked himself up off the floor and started stealing full time again. He didn’t have any other noteworthy talents, nor did he have experience with a trade. He decided, somewhere down the line, that feeling bad about his career choice wouldn’t do him any good. For Therion, it’s either take shit or die, and on most days, he prefers the former.

He started eating more, there was that. It’s not easy making a living on an empty stomach. The nightmares? They’re still pretty frequent, but it’s worse in the summer months. Sometimes, he thinks about visiting an apothecary, or—Gods forbid—one of those clowns that fancy themselves shrinks.

He’s not going to do that, though. Talking to somebody like that would mean having to open up. Opening up means sharing trust. Trust makes him _vulnerable_.

Today, he finds himself in a field of grass just west of Whispermill. The grass comes up to his waist, tickling his hands as they fall to his sides. A gentle breeze passes through, and when the grass moves with it, the field resembles an ocean of green.

Now, he doesn’t remember much of his early childhood, but there’s a story he heard somewhere that he’ll never forget. He hears it in a woman’s voice, so it’s possible it came from his mother, but he doesn’t know.

It goes like this: once, long ago, all the oceans in the world dried up. Left behind were humongous basins filled to the brim with all kinds of fish—everything from the smallest eel to the most massive whale, all huddled together and weeping for the loss of their home. The Gods took pity on them and dug deeper basins, then filled those basins with water fit for kings. Once again, these creatures had a home, one bigger and grander than the last. To celebrate, everything from the smallest eel to the largest whale jumped from beneath the surface and touched the sky. It was their way of paying tribute to the Gods who saved them.

 _So now,_ the voice says, _whenever you see a fish jump from the sea, you know it’s their way of showing love for the world._

Therion lets his vision blur as he stares at a fixed point beyond the field. If he closes his eyes, he can see them—hundreds of thousands of fish of all colors, shapes and sizes—leaping from the grass and grazing the clouds.

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty:

Therion never considered himself a caring man.

“P-Please, h-help me, s-someone, I c-can’t find my b-bunny.”

But there’s this kid.

“I l-lost her, and m-mommy said I c-can’t go in the w-woods by myself.”

And no matter how hard he tries, he can’t look away.

“I’m sc-scared she’ll g-get eaten.”

Steeling himself, Therion makes his way over to the tiny, huddled form and sits down beside it. The kid looks up at him with tears in his eyes and snot dripping down his nose.

“W-Will y-you help me f-find her?”

_Godsdammit._

The boy looks up at him expectantly, and Therion can’t help but notice their resemblance. The boy has tanned skin like him and green eyes, but blond hair instead of white. He can’t be any older than seven, but he’s got a noticeable scar on his nose. It’s probably not from anything drastic, but it’s still something he’ll have to wear for the rest of his life.

“...Where did you last see her?”

The boy sniffles and points a shaky finger at the woods. “Sh-She went that way not t-too long ago.”

Therion nods, then stands up and brushes the dirt off his pants. The kid sniffles again and follows suit, then clutches at the bottom of Therion’s scarf. The sight makes Therion’s heart sink.

“What’s your name?”

Another sniffle. “M-Mason. My b-bunny’s name is Holly. W-What’s yours?”

Therion tries his best to smile. “Therion. Now let’s go find her, okay?”

Mason nods and offers a smile of his own. “Okay.”

The forest around Victor’s Hollow is dense; there’s a series of winding paths that lead nowhere, which makes keeping track of location difficult. The trees are tall enough to block out the majority of sunlight, and there’s no shortage of hostile beasts.

They walk for a little while, and Mason clings close to Therion, squeezing his hand every time there’s an odd noise. He babbles on about Holly’s favorite treats, what she likes to play with, and about the fact that he can’t wait for her to have babies one day so he can have _more_ bunnies.

“W-Wait!” Mason stops suddenly, eyes wide, “I think I see her over there! Up on that rock, Therion, look!”

Therion follows the boy’s gaze, and sure enough, there’s a plump, white rabbit nestled in a rock formation about fifteen feet off the ground. She looks bewildered, to say the least.

Mason’s grip tightens around Therion’s hand as he looks up, eyes full of doubt. “But...How are we gonna get her from all the way up there? If we scare her too much, she could try to run away and fall and,” he starts sniffling again, “I d-don’t know what to do.”

The rock formation is rough, jagged, and incredibly steep; it’s a miracle Holly managed to get herself up there unharmed. Therion notices a spot about three feet off the ground that juts out a little, then a few feet above it, there’s another spot he can use to balance himself. If he keeps moving upward in that general direction, he should (with a bit of awkward maneuvering) be able to reach the top.

“Stay right here.” Therion releases Mason’s hand and offers what he hopes is a reassuring nod. He tucks his scarf into the back of his poncho, then positions himself at the base of the rocks. One last glance at Mason tells him the kid’s three seconds away from another bout of tears, so he shakes off his nerves and starts to climb. Being a thief requires a certain set of skills, many of which having to do with nimbleness and upper body strength. The climb itself isn’t much of a problem, but the farther he gets from the ground, the more his legs shake.

“...Alright. Take it easy....C’mere.” Holly gives him this wide-eyed look, stiff with fear. With as much gentleness as he can muster, he reaches out and cups his hands around the rabbit’s sides, slowly bringing her toward him. Once he has her close, he takes his scarf and wraps her body in the fabric, then slings it over his shoulder and secures it with a tight knot. It’s like a makeshift carrier bag.

Rabbit? Check. Safe method of transport? Check. The skills necessary to climb back down without getting hurt? Check. Therion has everything he needs. Everything except courage.

What’s supposedly fifteen feet looks like a hundred. He’ll have to keep one arm around Holly to stop her from squirming, which rules out most of his options. There’s a chance he could hop from boulder to boulder until he reaches the ground, but again, he only has one arm to balance himself with. If he slips up, if he falters for even a second—

_So long, partner._

He shakes the thought from his head and holds Holly close; he can’t afford to panic. Not when Mason’s staring at him like he’s got the world in his hands.

Therion braces himself, sends a prayer up to every God he remembers the name of, mutters a dry _here goes nothing,_ and jumps.

He hits the ground with all the grace of a grizzly bear, but somehow manages to keep Holly safely secured in her pouch. The fall made him dizzy. He has to study the trees around him to make sure he’s not in the clifflands—to make sure he’s not sixteen again, broken and busted at the bottom of—

“Holly!”

Mason trips over himself trying to reach them, babbling incoherently as he takes the rabbit into his arms and presses his face into her fur. “Y-You did it! You really did it! You saved her! You saved her and she’s okay!” Mason rubs Holly’s back with one hand and wipes his tears with the other. “A-And you were so cool! The way you climbed up then jumped back down like that—you’re like a real hero!” Holly nuzzles her face into Mason’s hand, and he giggles. “I wish I could be just like you, Therion. Then Holly would never be in danger ever again.”

Therion blinks, and there’s this weight in his chest. It pinches his lungs and squeezes his ribs. In that moment, he remembers the old man he and Darius robbed as children. This time, Mason is there watching, stunned to silence as the man wails and pleads with them to return his measly earnings. Mason’s eyes fill with tears, and he clutches Holly hard enough to break her.

“So thank you, Therion. Thank you so, so much!”

In the end, it’s better to push it somewhere he can’t see it.

“...Don’t mention it. But let’s get you back home, alright?”

Because there aren’t words.

Mason takes Therion’s hand and hums like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Twenty years old and a fake smile is all he has to show for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty-one:

The pass south of Bolderfall is steep. Therion has to keep his shoulder pressed against the mountainside at certain points to steady himself. The scratch of metal against rock every time his hand moves reminds him of the stupid bangle on his wrist.

_‘He’s right, m’lady. This is simply an agreement between us and a skilled, but...short sighted thief.’_

Therion wants to laugh, but all that comes out is a dry snort. He’s never considered himself religious, but he’d bet half his coin purse whatever controls fate is toying with him. Today _just so happens_ to be his birthday. Or it would be, in a few hours. Daylight hours have always been strange in the clifflands. Either way, Miss Fortune gets a real kick out of punching him in the gut. _Hah...miss fortune._

Once the sun sets, Therion decides to sit and rest for a while. He’s about a day’s walk from the riverlands, and if he remembers right, the next town he’ll hit is Clearbrook. Taking the long way to Noblecourt wasn’t exactly preferable, but his only other option would be navigating the trails of S’warkii, which definitely wasn't worth it. There’s not much to steal from, and with his luck he’d probably end up being eaten by some vague eldritch terror before figuring out which direction town’s in.

With a resigned sigh, Therion settles down in a cave, pulling his legs close as he rests his head on his knees. There isn’t much light left, but he can still make out the outline of the bangle on his wrist. He can tell the exact shape and size of it, like an old friend, or a long forgotten memory resurfaced. For some reason, the thought makes him smile.

“...You’ll keep your word, huh? Heathcote?” His voice is small—shy, even, “sorry, old man, but I don’t know if I believe you.” He shakes his wrist and the bangle jingles. “Nobody’s ever kept their word with me. Not for very long, anyway. I’ve started to think it’s not possible. I mean,” he picks his head up and knocks the back of it against the wall, “if even my. My best friend. My _only_ friend. My brother, couldn’t keep his word, how the hell am I supposed to think this time it’ll be different?”

Therion snorts again. Sometimes, he wonders if there’s anybody listening to him talk to himself. He pictures an anxious traveler, frozen solid and wondering if just around the corner there’s some crazy bastard that’ll jump them on sight. Wondering what it’s like to be some lonely, homeless street rat without any friends but a couple of daggers and his two-bit wits.

“But I’m an idiot, or something worse, because I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m still going to Noblecourt to steal back the dragonstones. You’re probably sitting there, laughing your ancient ass off because you tricked this stupid kid into doing your dirty work _for_ you. But I’m still here.”

Gods, he should have been a comedian. Get a couple of lowlife drunks together in some backwater tavern and they’ll never get _enough_ of this shit.

He’s about to close his eyes when he sees something shiny in his peripheral. He shifts his body to get a better look, and as he does, a firefly lands on his leg. Therion blinks, then tries to poke at it, but it skitters away and flies off to meet its friends. It’s. Several. Hundred. Friends. They swarm together and break apart like they’re following a pattern, or even a dance. Another one makes its way over to Therion, and he puts his hand out just in time to catch it in his palm. It settles in his hand and stills.

Therion shakes his head and laughs. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

But the firefly doesn’t think, just stares. Therion decides he won’t think either. He’ll close his eyes and let them lull him to sleep.

He’ll need rest for the long road ahead of him—this much he knows.

What he doesn’t know, is that as soon as he hits Clearbrook, he’ll meet an apothecary with a golden smile and friend in need. Then, a dancer with the weight of the world on her back. A would-be knight with a broken heart. A merchant with a crooked grin and a penchant for adventure. A scholar with a sharp mind and soft eyes. A cleric who’s holds the hope of a nation around her wrist. A huntress whose very existence is larger than life.

And he would be their thief with a tired laugh and enough love in his heart to fill a cavern.

 

* * *

 

Twenty-two:

“You gonna be okay?”

Therion shrinks a little at the question, unsure of what he’ll sound like when he answers: “I’m fine.”

Alfyn’s brows furrow as he crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. Tressa pushes passed him and places her hands on her hips. “You’re not as good of a liar as you think, y’know.” She gently pokes his arm and pouts. “You can say when you’re feeling scared…”

“Tressa, I’m _fine._ ”

Ophilia puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. “You have us here with you, no matter what. I’ll even give you one of my special shawls so you’re not cold in Northreach.”

“I shall providen some of my furs. They will keepen thee warm even in the harshest weather.” H’aanit’s tone is frank, but there’s a softness in her eyes Therion isn’t used to.

Cyrus beams, and there’s this twinkle in his eyes. “Yes, yes, and shall I use a fire spell as well? Or perhaps a lightning spell when we reach town—nothing will quiet _our_ storm!”

“Oh, please. The cold’s not what has the poor dear riled up,” Primrose says with a yawn, “in any case, Therion, stop giving us that sour look. You look much nicer with a smile.”

Olberic gives a slow nod. “I agree. Though you face a difficult battle, you must charge forward with your head held high and your shoulders square.” He places a firm hand on Therion’s other shoulder and smiles. “And never forget to look behind you, for we will be following you all the way.”

Therion stares at each of them in abject disbelief, his hands falling lamely to his sides as he tries to come up with something, _anything_ to say. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, dumbstruck and incoherent like a child who’d been caught stealing sweets. His skin feels hot, his back starts to ache, and he realizes he’s shaking. All of him is shaking.

“I don’t. I just.” Therion bites his lip and looks at the ground. If the situation wasn’t so absurd, he would have laughed. “I just don’t—”

Before he can finish, a strong pair of arms comes from behind him and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“H-Hey—”

“Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise ya, Therion. We’ll be here with you, every step of the way.” Alfyn’s tone is soft, warm, and tooth-rottingly sweet. There’s something about it that makes his breathing funny, like he’s seconds away from laughter, or seconds away from tears.

“Yep! You got us, so don’t worry about a thing!” Tressa all but leaps at him, joining the embrace with a cheerful giggle. “That big jerk has _no_ idea who’s messing with!”

“Tressa’s right.” Primrose ruffles his hair and quirks an eyebrow. “We’ll send that ugly troll running for the hills before he can even figure out how to _spell_ dragonstone.” She takes her hand from his hair and instead cups his cheek. “Let faith be your shield, Therion. And in turn, so will we.”

Therion blinks, and he’s not sure which of them he’s supposed to look at. It’s too much, all of it is just too much.

“I, uh," Therion coughs into his hand, hoping to the Gods it doesn’t sound strained, “I. Thank you. I just, yeah. Thank you. For everything.”

Alfyn pulls him closer, Tressa pokes his stomach, and Primrose squeezes his cheek. The rest of the party watches fondly, and, just, _Gods,_ it’s way too much—how did he get himself here? All the adventures, all the long nights spent wondering whether they going to survive the next one. All the questions, then subsequent answers. All the taverns and dance-floors and inns and beaches and forests and all the times he could have just up and left but didn’t—all of it, even the mistake that set him on this journey in the first place—all of it was irreplaceable.

And for once, he’s happy the fall didn’t take him.

 

* * * 

 

It goes like this: Darius stands alone at the altar with the dragonstones. Therion faces him, not alone but with seven people by his side, the people who call themselves his friends. Several guards come from behind, and four break off to hold them back, leaving him with three. It would be four against one: a thief, an apothecary, a merchant, and a dancer against a crime lord who knew death like the back of his hand.

Somewhere along the way, Darius’ composure snaps. He starts babbling nonsense, all about Therion’s eyes _oh he hates those eyes,_ and about Alfyn being a useless medicine man and Tressa being a sniveling child and Primrose? Primrose was nothing but a whore. All of them worthless, worthless, _worthless_ naifs.

“Do you have any idea what happens when you _trust_ others?”

He waves his sword like a madman and eyes them like prey; he wears the badge of pariah with pride.

 _“_ You’re such a sentimental fool!”

Something stirs in him then, something like courage, something like _hope._

“...Maybe I am a fool. But trust is a sentiment I want to believe in. And it’s one worth fighting for!”

In that moment, it’s like he’s sprouted wings. All his doubts, all the nightmares, all the sleepless nights—all the love he has for everything, for all of them, for all the people who’ve changed his life—all the rain and oceans and forests and fireflies—all of it bursts from chest.

There would be no more tragic endings.

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty-three:

It’s become a pastime of Therion’s to sit out in the backyard, to feel the breeze on his skin and watch the sheets sway from the clothesline. Sometimes, he does this alone. Other times, people join him.

“Hey, hey, we got a letter!”

He picks his head up to see Alfyn hovering over him. His body blocks out the sun, but it casts a golden effect on his hair and cheeks  that makes Therion’s head spin.

Alfyn grins and flashes the piece of parchment in his hands, then sits down in the grass. “It’s from Tressa. She’s coming to visit soon. Bringin’ Prim and Ophilia with her. Wanna give it a read?”

“Again? Her last visit was a month ago.”

“Guess we’re just popular then, huh?”

Therion shakes his head and laughs, then takes the letter and starts to read.

_Hey guys, it’s me, your favorite merchant!_

“Bold of her to assume she’s our favorite.”

Alfyn nudges him in the shoulder and rolls his eyes. “She is. Now keep reading.”

 _I met up with Primrose and Ophilia recently_ — _they’re SUPER cute together by the way. Oooh my gosh. I think I almost died when Ophilia kissed her on the cheek and Prim blushed like CRAZY oh my gosh you have to see it. ANYWAY!_

“I’m happy for them,” Alfyn murmurs as he rests his chin on Therion’s shoulder. “I was hopin’ they’d get together ‘nd all.”

Therion snorts. “Me too, and honestly, I’m surprised it took as long as it did.”

_Is it okay if I stay for a couple weeks? That’s okay, right? I’m bringing aaalllll kinds of snacks from home. Especially like, a ton of Mama’s pasta. It’s soooo good I can’t wait for you guys to try it. Also! Very important: I’ve decided what type of animal everyone is. Don’t ask me why, I just think it’s cute so I’m gonna tell you._

“Animals? Really? Five leaves says she’ll tell me I’m a cat.”

“I mean, to be fair, Therion, you are pretty cat-like.”

It’s Therion’s turn to roll his eyes, but a smile tugs at his lips that he doesn’t bother fighting.

_Let’s start with something simple: I’m a squirrel. Like, I have a pet squirrel, but I’m also a squirrel because they’re clever and cute! Don’t debate that with me, Therion. Anyway, Ophilia’s a rabbit, because she’s soft and warm and very gentle. Prim’s a tigress. She’s strong and brave and ready to fight for what she believes in....but also kinda like a cat._

Therion has to stifle a laugh with his hand. “I cannot _believe_ she goes and calls herself a squirrel.”

“Squirrels are good. Keep reading.”

_Anyway, Alfyn’s DEFINITELY a big dog, like a golden retriever or some kind of Labrador. He’s friendly and loves everyone. Very much man’s-best-friend material. And Therion? Therion, you’re a lion. Bet you thought i was just gonna say house cat! But no, I thought about it a lot, and you’re definitely a lion._

“...I still get the cat points, right?”

“Technically, yes, but c’mon. There’s just a little more.”

_You’re a lion because you’re filled with so much strength, more than most people have ever had to gather. You’re prideful and fierce, but you also have these moments of gentleness that you don’t let anybody see. You protect the people you care about like they’re worth the whole world and maybe more, but you also need a good hug every once in a while. You’re a lion, Therion. You’re braver than you think and stronger than you know._

“...Is this the part where I’m supposed to start tearing up?”

Alfyn picks his head up. “Are you?”

“...No.”

Alfyn gives a soft laugh, then runs his fingers through Therion’s hair and pulls him close. “I wanted you to get to that part in specific. Thought it’d make you happy.”

Therion squeezes his eyes shut and leans into Alfyn’s touch. This is still new for him, still something he’s never had the chance to experience before. It’s exhilarating and terrifying. It’s so godsdamned incredible that sometimes, he forgets to breathe.

“Must be allergies or something. Maybe she slipped something into the envelope, like onion powder.”

“It’s possible, but I think she’d be a little more creative than onion powder honestly.” Alfyn reaches over and takes the letter from Therion’s hand. “Either way, I’ll read the rest of it. Sound good?”

Therion nods.

“Seriously though, I put a lot of thought into that, so don’t make fun of me when I get there! I haven’t decided what animals Olberic, Cyrus and H’aanit are yet, but I really wanna visit them, too. Maybe we can all go together? But in any case, save some nice warm beds for us for when we get there. I’m really excited to see you guys again, and I know Prim and Ophilia feel the same. They said Hi, by the way. But yeah, see you soon!

Love, Tressa Colzione.”

“...She always has a way with words, that one.”

“Sure does! Those three’ll probably be here any day now, so we should definitely start settin’ up.”

Therion hums a response and opens his eyes. The wind’s picked up, and the sheets on the clothesline start to alternate between one another, filling the yard with color. Alfyn’s wind chimes (he loves those things) sing some faraway tune, and the only word Therion can think of to describe this scene is _peace._

Alfyn cards his fingers through Therion’s bangs and gently traces the scar under his eye with his thumb. “She’s right, y’know. You’re strong. And y’know what else? You inspire us to be strong, too.”

There’s something so simple in that. Something so fresh and new.

“That so?”

Alfyn nods. “A hundred percent.”

“Alright then,” Therion whispers, soft as the wind chimes, “we’ll be strong together.”

And strong they would be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely the...darkest thing I've ever posted by a longshot. The final battle with Darius was based off of my main party in the game--but yeah they were all With Therion in some way. In any case, the title comes from "little lion man" by mumford & sons, bc the song reminds me of Therion a lot, and it inspired me to write this. Thank you so, so much for reading and supporting my work!
> 
> I'm also @ tsubakimac on twitter if you wanna see more hollering and writing wips!


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